#personal travel planning

[tomorrowdoesntmatter]

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[journeysallure]

Journeys Allure

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[fluffyartbl0g]

Holy crap this is like world record breaking pace guys

Speedrun/Time Travel AU masterlist

[donelywell]

Hopefully part 1 of my submission to my own event lmao-

I totally didn't push this off until the literal last day, who do you think I am?

Unfortunately, I have work today, so I can't spend all day drawing.

Part 2

[jade-len]

i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.

picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.

it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.

and then he gets to the sword.

demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.

but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.

when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.

the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.

and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.

the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.

luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.

instead, he hears this:

"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."

but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.

"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."

"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."

"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."

"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"

somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.

weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.

xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.

it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.

sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.

maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.

maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.

"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.

hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."

xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.

...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.

(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)

[crispylilworm]

Not like the show even needed the justification, but Pod Watcher confirmed Travel Season was significantly cheaper to produce than shows like Puppet History and Ghost Files

And now, to all the people who had so much to say about Steven Lim back in April…..

Say sorry RIGHT NOW.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Most important thing to know before writing: What is the point of your story?

There are two parts to that question.

-What are the main story elements you want to feature? A certain character? A setting? A moment of the plot? A particular theme? Which elements are essential to the story you're trying to tell?

-What type of ending are you aiming toward? It doesn't have to be super-detailed, but knowing something about where the story is going is how you know you have a story and not just an image. Is the main character going to change/grow somehow? Learn the answer to a question? Accomplish a certain goal? Make a friend?

Defining those things before you start lets you know that your idea is a story, not just an image or a concept that won't go anywhere. It also gives you a core to base the story around and keeps you from going off-track.

As long as you have defined the essentials to the story and the general direction that you need the story to go in, everything else is negotiable. You have freedom to adjust the non-essentials and explore different possibilities as you discovery-write, so long as none of those non-essentials interfere with the point of the story. If it distracts from the main point, or turns the plot in a way that'll make it impossible to reach main point of the story, it needs to be discarded. Anything else will most likely enrich your story.

[swordmaid]

i am wide awake thinking about that post canon jb au again when I should be sleeping …!!! such is the nature of the jbrainrot…

[mangofresca]

halcyon | 18+

Romano feels like he’s dancing in his sleep, that shifting, swaying motion like waves across the beach and toes dragging through sand, like water and rhythm pulling his chest high, his shoulders low, stretching out his hips, his knees, his ankles. The soft cotton of his pillowcase scratches and tickles at his cheekbone when he turns his head into it, wisping itself against his clavicle, and he sighs against it, lets it swallow his breath the same way it swallows the heat of his body, an echo of warmed contentment and easy dreaming.

The mattress beneath him dips, and he almost pushes away the palm that slides across his stomach, his sternum, but it’s warm, too, and Romano always liked being warm, and he liked being warm beneath this hand even more. He leans into it, instead, keeps his eyes closed, and he makes a small noise that’s half deliberate and half desultory—because he does mean to acknowledge Spain, but he doesn’t mean to acknowledge him like a cat waking from a nap in lazy, dozy sunbeams, purring.

But that’s fine. That’s fine. He knows Romano sometimes sounds like that when he’s waking, and even not, just sometimes when he’s beneath the pads of Spain’s fingers, and Romano feels fine when the mattress dips again and Spain hovers over him, knees sweetly nudging his apart.

Romano keeps his eyes closed when lips skim his jaw, keeps himself ensconced in the soft sunlight that shines itself across his eyelids. It’s good like this, he thinks. It’s nice. He can hear himself breathe with an awareness he never really has when he’s around Spain, always too preoccupied with other things, irrelevant things—what he’s doing, what he’s not, what he could be doing to Spain, instead. He likes being conscious of it, of his body and his reactions, and he sighs again when that palm moves to his side, his rib cage and lower, fingers skimming over his thigh as they drag heated sheets down, away.

There’s a laugh twinkling in his ear, something bright and charmed, and his skin pricks with cognizance when he feels the breath of it, lips curving into a smile against his cheek. “Awake yet?”

Spain speaks his vowels in a whisper, his consonants always catching on the tip of his tongue, and Romano’s shoulder shifts back in a shiver, presses into the bed when soft breeze meets skin, humid and carrying the smell of midmorning sunrise.

He makes a noise again, some groaned mhm that rumbles itself up his chest and out his throat, that gets lost somewhere around his lips when the heat of Spain’s laughter leaves his cheek and instead drifts across his nipple—and the gasp that leaves him is a surprised one.

He feels stupid like this, naïve, foolish, as if he isn’t war- and weather-worn, born and raised in the echoing, thundered footsteps of the Roman Empire, older than the New World and older still, as if his own sand dunes aren’t his brothers, the rolling fields his sisters. But this is his life now: homes across his country and Spain’s, furnished with soft beds and yellow kitchens and flowing curtains that always let the light in, because neither of them ever really do well when away from the sun, too used to its bite to go without for longer than a day, two. He wakes, now, to sheets that settle across the curves of his body, to someone in his bed, wiggling his legs until they settle around tanned hips, to sea-chapped lips that hum the song of his name until he is something melodious, made of more than sinew and sand, of memory.

Spain whispers his name, a question carried softly through balmy air and that sounds so fucking in love Romano almost opens his eyes, almost gives into the needling whine of it—

But Spain always did his best work when given a task, and Romano knows Spain has no qualms about being set to work on Romano, no end to the things he would let Spain do to him, and though his mouth goes dry as Spain nips at his throat and presses a finger against him, he can only find the energy to laugh, just dry air, enough to breathe Spain in, too.

When Spain dips down and kisses him, Romano kicks the sheets up and over Spain’s back. They are still warm, and so is he.

[heywriters]

sad at myself for writing some of the most romantic, heartfelt little scenes, and then never finishing the wip or posting the story :\

[dululand]

[acetheta]

i think i could heal if people were more crazy about spydoc. btw

[xcziel]

has anybody else thought about how jk could easily manage sofia's parts of slow dance or is it just me?

[skippyhawk]

okay i’ve been here for only a few days now yet it’s already driving me absolutely crazy how people keep implying that hawk is somehow the villain in this story. absolutely not.

bigotry is the evil in this story, just as it was and is in real life. they are all victims of their circumstances. this show exhibits a heartbreakingly poignant example of how different kinds of people deal with the societal obligation to suppress a huge, intrinsic part of themselves. sorry, but if you think hawk’s the villain here, you shouldn’t be watching this show at all.

media literacy TRULY is at an all time low

[nowimhaunted]

I need to go back to the Pacific Northwest so bad everyone I met there was SOO nice 😭

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

i lived, bitches